Untouchable
by Stardust Skywriter
Summary: Because when you got to the heart of it, the one word to describe them was 'untouchable'.
1. Don't Touch

_A/N: First story for this account. Just a quick stand-alone to get on my feet with this identity, although for sure I'm posting a Starfire version of this one. (Wouldn't be a RobStar story without her point of view, hm?)_

_Also, do you guys think that I should add a real story here? Like, linear narrative? Not just the cryptic stuff I'm putting in this chapter? Input would be nice before I add Starfire's part._

_DISCLAIMER: Since this is my first story, no I do not own the Teen Titans or any DC franchise (as a matter of fact, **any** franchise at all) that I may have touched or will touch upon in this piece._

* * *

Untouchable.

Yes, that's what he was.

Ever since the beginning he was untouchable. Traveling in the shadows and hiding behind a mask. Anyone who tried to touch him got burned — or at least, punched in the face.

In the beginning he _tried_ to let them touch him. Asked for warmth, asked for hugs. Asked for a little touch.

He was sent to his room where he could touch no one but himself. So he drew his legs up and hugged his knees, fearing that he could not touch.

Which was why he hated his job. He went out at night when he couldn't touch at all — unless it was to incapacitate someone. No handshakes, no hugs, no warmth, not even the warmth of a voice tickling his skin in the cold night air telling him that he had done well.

No one seemed to want to touch him, so he didn't. He tried to stop touching. He tried to stop feeling. He tried to be hard as stone. Cold as one, too.

In the middle of the cement drying someone had stepped on it.

She wanted to touch. She touched him everywhere, and he welcomed it. He felt a need to make up for all the times he'd tried to touch and failed. And then she touched him in places he'd never even _dreamed_ of.

Warm lips, hands all over the body, hot breath that left a tingling sensation on his skin.

Then all of the touches stopped.

She'd gone. Vamoosed. A quick goodbye, one last touch, not enough for him to revel in it, and suddenly he wasn't allowed to touch again.

The cement had dried with her footprint in it.

Desperately he tried to fill it up again, cover up the past mistakes, vowing never to touch.

Vowing to become untouchable.

For the most part he succeeded in his mission — the company he kept didn't want touch in the first place, and were most likely relieved when he decided to stop pushing for contact.

One day something happened and soon he was in another city with four other kids who actually wanted to touch. Two boys who punched him in the arm, slapped him on the back for encouragement, telling him to get the hell out there and do what he did best. One girl placing a warm hand on his shoulder and telling him that he could do it. And that one girl who seemed to _thrive_ on touch — hugs, pecks on the cheek, pokes, you name it, she did it.

But he reminded himself what he needed to be. Untouchable.

He wasn't quite sure what to call the sensation he felt in his stomach every time she touched him. It seemed no matter how hard he tried to stop the touch, she always forgot and touched him again and he couldn't say no after that.

So instead he watched her try and try to break his shell. With those wonderfully strong punches, he might add. He would admit that maybe she'd left a crack or a dent or two. But he wasn't ready to be open to touch again.

Some people mistook it for arrogance.

He heard the two boys whispering, muttering. He pretended he didn't hear while they complained about his 'superiority complex'.

He broke the punching bag that day. Had to go down the musty backroom and get a new one.

No one could hold his hand, no one could hug him and tell him that it's alright and they were wrong when he needed so badly to vent, to just let loose and cry and _touch_. Instead the gym became his sanctuary. Special code that couldn't be overridden when he was inside, because training to him was like meditation, minus the flowery candle scent.

Because, he reminds himself, whenever he sees the two boys sharing high-fives and bumping fists, he is untouchable.

Because, he reminds himself, whenever he sees the two girls hugging each other and braiding each other's hair, he is untouchable.

Because, he reminds himself, whenever he sees her congratulating everyone with a warm hug and a peck on the cheek after a job well done, he is untouchable.

Yes, that's what he is.

Untouchable.

* * *

_A/N: Welp. My poor attempt at being cryptic. Input would be appreciated. Although I'm not new to the FF community I'm still feeling fluttery about creating a new identity for myself ^^;_

_Seems like this can stand alone although rest assured I'm coming up with Starfire's piece._


	2. Can't Touch

_A/N: -looks around innocently- Oh look! A new chapter! And.. so... **soon**... -laughs nervously-_

_Starfire's is kind of shorter, but... meh. Considering adding a real story to this, although I'm definitely prewriting if I come to decide on that._

_DISCLAIMER: Disclaimed._

* * *

Untouchable, they remind her. She was the forbidden fruit, to be admired and respected, not touched.

Growing up she had craved touch. She was deprived of it, and was eager to smother those who allowed her to make contact with them. But something unsettling formed in her stomach when the day after she hugged them they'd be sporting scars and averting their gazes.

They'd simply told her that she is untouchable.

Defiantly she had asked why, and she'd been told that it was the way it was. Soon she'd grown to accept that, that it was how it should be. She'd grown used to people watching her and speaking to her but never ever touching her unless they were privileged enough to.

Which explained why she loathed how they'd grabbed her and chained her and touched her _everywhere_, when she was not supposed to be touched.

No, she vowed, once she'd escaped from that filthy prison, she would demolish them without even laying a finger on their filthy forms.

With much difficulty and a rather rough landing, she'd managed to escape. Her hands were bound though, and it was alright, because she didn't need to touch.

Until strange forms came, watching her and this required something more... _precise_ than long-range combat. She _needed_ to touch them.

He comes along and offers her an act more noble than _rutha_. She touched him, for her own gain only — or at least, that's what she told herself — before separating herself from the lesser beings.

When four strange forms, apparently much more advanced than this planet's inhabitants, challenged her, she'd merely grinned. They couldn't catch her — after all, she was untouchable.

But those four, especially the boy she'd touched earlier — they wouldn't stop. They'd even managed to wound her, nothing that wouldn't heal given time and a little acid, but still! How _dare_ they touch her!

And then something changed. They convinced her to use touch for something else, something less destructive, something warmer and something much, much nicer. Not_ rutha_. Nicer.

Soon she couldn't get enough of the touch. Hugged the two boys, hugged the girl before getting brushed off, especially she hugged the boy who introduced her to the wonders of real warmth in contact.

But sometimes he doesn't want to be touched. When he averted his gaze, she'd be reminded of those who have been bullied into making her untouchable.

Briefly she wondered if she'd done something wrong. Some sort of social blunder, perhaps?

But why could she touch the two boys? Why did they hug her and sling arms around her and bump fists with her if it was taboo? Why could she touch the girl who seemed even less warm to touch than he was, but allowed her to give hugs of affection?

Why did he have to make her feel untouchable?

Sometimes it branched out beyond their cozy group of five. Humans saying hello had been so common, they'd seemed very nice. She'd become accustomed to hugging and greeting them all, engaging in conversation, delighted to have new friends.

Apparently, some of them thought otherwise.

They'd shoved her off in an even worse manner than the boy did — pushed her, called her degrading names and spat at her. The inner warrior roared, demanding _how_ could they touch her?

Try and try as she might, despite the number of people who loved her and accepted her touch, there would always be those who reminded her.

Those who reminded her that she was to be respected and viewed, nothing more and certainly nothing less.

With every dismissive wave of his hand she remembers not to touch.

With every snide remark and warning to stay away she remembers not to touch.

With every door shut in her face she remembers that she must not touch, that she must not be touched.

She cannot help but constantly remember that she is supposed to be untouchable.

* * *

_A/N: Meh. Input is greatly valued. (With writing like mine I think I'll need all the input I can get x_X)_

_Suggestions for what I can toy with for a plot to Untouchable will be cherished and you will be loved forever and ever._


End file.
